So what we have here is Amber Ryan taking on Brian Crucifix and thrown into the mix is “The Sadistic Surgeon” of professional wrestling. And what does the young lady decide to go with. She calls out the fact that I have missed opportunities here. That I have dropped the ball. That I have been laid to waste. That I am some kind of urban legend. That I am a myth. That I am simply a hyped up story that old timers tell rookies to scare them into shape in the back so they don't take their shit jobs for granted.

You're right.

Trent Steel is an urban legend that I never wanted. I never wanted to be “The Son of a Bitch”. I just wanted to be a person. I had that taken away from me Amber. I had that taken away from me at a young age and the only thing my professional wrestling family could do was throw me into the mix. I was one of the twin runts of the litter. My brother Troy he never really took to it. You'd probably like him. Keeps changing jobs, enjoying life, has a blast, and is the life of the party. Me. I got a different problem.

I can't get the mental image of my sister being raped in front of me and a gun being held to my twin's face while a gun lays at my fucking feet.

The man who did it lays rotting in a grave not fit for the human he became. I blew his head clean off his body with that canon, and I was only nine years old.

On that night...I failed for the first time. Damning my soul for a murder everyone said was justified.

And after that night Trent Steel became a legend in his neighborhood. That quiet kid. Don't fuck with him. This will surprise you, but I was never really a talker until I got out of high school. Graduated early. Went pro when I turned sixteen. Had already been having matches since thirteen. Could have went to college, but I knew I would never survive. Tried to go into the military, but the psychologists said I was unstable. I had to stay in control constantly. They were concerned about what would happen if I ever got angry. So it was pro wrestling and only pro wrestling for me.

I had nothing but anger in the ring and then I meet someone. I meet Jason Blood. Fellow third generation wrestler who was hungry. He and I instantly had a tag team chemistry. Then I met his sister, Jennifer. The only woman I've truly loved. We worked our asses off in minor leagues and finally got a title shot in a major promotion. We won. I proposed to Jennifer...

Drunk Driver. Put her in a coma, put me in the hospital for six months.

I was angry. The driver was dead. So...I took it out on who I blamed for it. I failed again.

And I burned Jason's face off with a white hot flaming barbwire baseball bat.

Do you notice a pattern yet. If I lose control bad things happened. I let loose. I let everyone feel the pain. The pain of not being alright. I let loose a path of carnage that makes every god damn death match you've claimed to have seen look like a god damn drunk sorority pillow fight.

The legend grew from facts.

Over time I gained forgiveness. Jennifer forgave me. Jason forgave me. I made amends. I even tried to go to therapy to deal with my issues. I started to turn around and they wouldn't let me.

The people outside of OWF want the legend.

Just like they want to be in between your thighs in their wet dreams.

And after years of working hard I had one success. One win. One win that matters to me. I fought countless world titles, hardcore titles, tag titles. Winning each of them meant proving my superiority, but there is one thing in my entire career that I am actually proud of.

It was the night I actually saved someone instead of hurt them.

It was the night I saved JC from himself. Joe has been upfront about it. He's had some mental issues. Wasn't taking his meds and was being more and more vicious in the ring. It got self destructive. I had to pull him off of people that he was more than likely going to kill in the ring. My friend had become the monster that I was always made out to be. An Urban Legend...brought to life. So I baited him. I manipulated him into a match where he would have wait to take me out. I went thru four other men who wanted to destroy me. They almost did. Then Joe came out to finish the job and I took every hit he could throw at me and still got up.

You like to talk about wins and losses like in singular moments that ends the dispute.

There is only one win in my record that matters to me. It's the one where Joe could have killed me in the ring and he didn't. He realized he had fucked up and he left on his own accord. I don't remember much after the match. I just remember hitting the mat as I saw him walk to the back.

I didn't fail.

Now what does all of this have to do with you.

What hope does a schlub like me have against “Paragon” eh?

I want to show you that everything that's happened to me since coming here has been a rolling ball of fuckery. You wanna know why I joined Kyra's team. It had nothing to do with Kyra trying to bribe me or what not like Bridges did with you guys. No. I proved my point to Kyra. I proved I didn't do what I have been accused of. I proved that I was not the person that everyone wants me to be.

So that is a win.

But you only care about the win and loss column. I think what you actually care about is a bit of a problem that's being thrown into the mix from Joe. You don't wanna fight “The Rogues” because so far you've really only had to deal with me in singles competition and you think you fucking know me.

Reminder dear sweet lady...legends and myths have some basis in truth in them.

For one night only...I just might fucking show you just how god damn truthful the boogeyman can fucking be! You want to fight me at my best. The ghosts of my past laid before me are gone and the only thing that I have to fear is what? You and Jack? Crucifix and Zodiac? Whose left?

Jesse Williams? Fuck that cunt.

Tweeder? Fuck that double cunt.

Bridges?...AHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHA...

This three way dance is to give you just a taste of what you should be worried about next week. Because you don't have Jack to save your ass sweetheart, and I know one person in this match besides me is taking this seriously...because he knows I'm gonna put my combat boot straight down his throat just like always because he fucking deserves what he is about to get hit with.

You won a title.

You lost a title.